


Not afraid of anything (even time)

by flora_tyronelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And you should never bet against her, As Remus learns to his cost, Christmas, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Lily Evans is an impulsive matchmaker, M/M, Marauders' Era, There's a spell that changes the colour of your hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8922574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flora_tyronelle/pseuds/flora_tyronelle
Summary: “And you’re-?” James suddenly seems to have realised that Remus’ feelings need to be accounted for, and he waves his hands in a general manner.
Gay? In love with Sirius Black? A total idiot?
Remus shrugs and pulls a face that could almost be a wry smile.
“Yeah, Prongs, I am.”
 
Christmastime in seventh year- Sirius somehow has purple hair (it's all Lily Evans' fault) and it's not bloody turning back.





	1. The Dark Shape

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be 3k of happy Christmas fluff and grew into rather more...
> 
> I would love feedback on this- it's actually my first Marauders' era fic!
> 
> The next chapter is nearly written, so it should be up before Christmas day.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: blood and a fairly graphic description of a werewolf transformation.

Remus wakes up to the distinctive sound of James Potter laughing, and knows his trap has been sprung.

“What? What?!” That’s Sirius.

Remus’ stomach is full of butterflies. James just wheezes louder.

“What’s going on?” Pete’s voice is sleepy, probably because it’s about six o clock in the morning and they don’t even have lessons: it’s the Christmas holidays and Kingsley went home yesterday.

James splutters, then there’s the sound of a body being pitched backwards onto a bed. Remus can’t work out if Sirius has shoved him or if James just fell of his own accord, but at that moment Peter let’s out a very squeaky “Ha!” and there’s the distinctive noise of running feet.

“Hey, hey! No! Protego!”

“Bit ambitious, given that your wand’s on your bedside table, Wormy,” Sirius points out. He sounds slightly out of breath. James is still chortling in the background. “Shut up, James! What is the matter with you both?!”

Peter makes a kind of choking noise, but hastily adds, “Don’t hex me, Padfoot!”

“Then just tell me what’s going on! Has Prongs drawn a dick on my face again?” Sirius sounds more and more exasperated by the second.

James goes off into peals of laughter again.

“No,” He gasps, “Don’t tell him, Wormy! It’s too beautiful. Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Remus can almost imagine Peter looking from one to the other, his round face doubtful. This is normally the point Remus steps in to rescue him…

“Fine,” Sirius huffs, “I’ll wake up Moony. He’ll tell me.”

Remus swallows, pulls back the curtains of his four-poster and looks around the room.

“He’s awake,” He says. Sirius turns to look at him, and the sight of him produces the usual clench in Remus’ stomach. The fact that Sirius’ hair is a delicate shade of orange is quite disconcerting, though.

“Morning, Sirius.”

The effort of keeping his voice pleasant and unconcerned is huge, but it’s worth it to see Sirius’ eyes widen in irritation (and his hair shift, almost imperceptibly, from mango to sunset).

“Moony! Moon-moon, what have they done to me?” He bounds across their dormitory, the overlong sleeves of his purple pyjamas flapping slightly.

“They haven’t done anything,” Remus replies after a moment, looking up at Sirius. His hair has gotten even longer this term, almost down to his shoulders, and it gives the colour change even more impact.

“What do you mean?” Sirius whines. He spins back to glare at Peter and James, now sat up on their respective beds, giggling quietly. “If you’re all covering for each other- I haven’t even done anything this term!”

_That’s what you think, Sirius_ , Remus thinks, _and that’s exactly the problem_.

“They aren’t covering for anyone, Sirius,” Remus says coolly, now examining his fingernails. “This was my idea.”

Sirius whirls back to face him. His face is pure surprise and his hair-

“Pads-” James chortles so hard he doubles over, glasses falling off his face onto the bedspread, “-I think you should take a look in a mirror, mate.”

Sirius gives Remus a poisonous glare and stalks off into their shared bathroom.

_One_ , Remus counts, _two, three_ …

“Holy _fuck_!”

James and Peter howl with laughter, and Remus allows himself a small smile.

Sirius comes running back into the room, his face half amused, half furious (and his hair a glorious shade of magenta).

“You absolute bastard! What was this for?!”

“Christmas presents,” Remus tells him, “I put a hex on the hiding place. I did warn you, but…”

He doesn’t add that he’s significantly tampered with the spell. Only time will tell if those alterations will have any effect.

“Ah, fuck.” Sirius curses, but he’s almost smiling. “Suppose I did really deserve that, didn’t I.”

“Yes,” Remus says, simply, “You did.”

“OK,” Sirius takes a deep breath and assumes an expression of deep contrition as Peter and James finally start to calm down, “I am deeply sorry I tried to look at the Christmas presents you have so generously purchased for us all. I am an ingrate and not worthy of being your friend. Will you forgive me?”

You have to hand it to him, Sirius Black knows how to do an apology. Probably because he’s had so much practice. His hair is now a warm cream, which makes him look slightly like a pensioner, or an abstract angel. He turns his pleading grey eyes on Remus.

Remus sighs. He’ll never be able to resist.

“I forgive you, Padfoot.”

“Ah, Moon-Moons, you are the best,” Sirius traipses across the dorm, a hopeful smile on his face. “Now, counter-charm? Please?”

Right. Counter-charm. Yes.

Remus reaches for his wand and stands up. It always surprises him that he’s taller than Sirius now, and Sirius is forever cursing Remus’ ‘lucky growth spurt’.

The counter-charm for his original hex is non-verbal, with a clockwise spiralling movement. Remus tries it three times before giving up. He hadn’t really expected it to work anyway.

_Not_ that he’s going to tell Sirius that.

“You’ve got to be joking. Tell me you’re joking. I can’t go around with pink hair!” Sirius looks desperately around at the darkened dormitory at the others: a command to rally round if ever there was one.

“Actually, it’s kind of green, now,” Peter comments, looking appraisingly at the back of Sirius’ head.

“What have you done to me, Moony?!” Sirius asks, his eyebrows doing that thing where they try to climb aristocratically into his hairline. Remus has never been able to satisfactorily explain to himself how Sirius manages to make the smallest actions look sophisticated, but he does.

“It would appear he’s hexed you, Pads,” James snorts. Sirius immediately lunges for one of Remus’ pillows and throws it at him.

“Now is not the time for irony!” He declares, as James bats the pillows away and curses as his glasses fall off again, “Now is the time when we work out how to fix this! And you should really glue those to your head, Prongs. Would save a lot of bother.”

“Padfoot,” Peter yawns through the word, “It’s not even _light_ yet. Can’t we sleep a bit longer? I mean, your life isn’t in danger, is it?”

Sirius draws himself up to his full height (which, from where Remus is standing, isn’t very impressive).

“ _Wormtail_ ,” He says, in a tone of voice that sounds _remarkably_ like Professor MacGonagall, “I am, frankly, disappointed in your lack of commitment. Are you a marauder or not, man?”

Remus rolls his eyes and tries to control his inner hysteria.

“Come on, Padfoot. Let’s go bother Matron about your hair.”

“Moony!” Sirius theatrically throws his arms around him, and Remus tries not to react, “My saviour! Although you did get me like this is the first place, you fucker.” He smiles affectionately up at Remus, before releasing him and marching back to his bed to pull on his dressing gown. “Come on, then! Time is wasting!”

Remus follows him out of their dormitory, wondering if anyone else has noticed that Sirius’ hair is now a soft shade of lavender.

Gryffindor Tower is eerily quiet. They are among the few students who’ve decided to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas- ostensibly because James’ parents are in Ireland, Peter ‘doesn’t like turkey’ and Sirius wants to do some extra revision for their NEWTs, but really it’s because the full moon falls on Boxing Day this year. Remus still can’t quite believe they’re all staying, just for him- but there it is. Now that he’s put it that way, hexing one of the people who has voluntarily given up their Christmas holidays just to spend the night chaperoning a werewolf seems kind of awful, actually.

But… He has his reasons. And it’s not like he’s _hurting_ Sirius.

They climb out through the portrait hole (careful not to wake the Fat Lady) and flit through the gloomy corridors.

“Should’ve brought the map,” Remus murmurs after a while, just for something to say, as Sirius peers around an archway into the main stair-well. The rumble of moving stone almost drowns him out.

“What’s life without a bit of risk?” Sirius grins over his shoulder, “All clear, anyway.”

Remus tries to ignore the fact that Sirius’ hair is now a warm, chocolatey brown as they traipse down the maze of stairs to the first floor. A few portraits hiss at them, but they encounter nobody else between the dormitory and the large double doors that lead to the Hospital Wing. Sirius raises a fist and knocks, loudly.

A few seconds later and the door swings open to reveal the stout figure of Matron, already dressed in her pressed uniform despite the early hour.

“Black, Lupin. What on earth is the matter?”

Sirius launches into an explanation.

“Matron, Remus has, very much accidentally, turned my hair- what colour is it now, Remus?”

“Sort of- pastel pink, I’d say,” Remus replies, his voice deliberately calm.

“-Sort of pastel pink, and although I’m very impressed with his jinxing abilities, I’d really like my hair back to normal.” Sirius smiles his ‘charming the birds from the trees’ smile, and Matron softens ever so slightly.

“Very well. Seeing as I’m not looking after any more pressing matters, I will do my best to reverse this- what spell did you use, Lupin?”

“The spell for impermanent colour-change,” Remus replies, trying very hard to try not to sound like it’s a line he’s been practicing. That spell had certainly been where he’d started, but this was a fair few iterations down the line. A potion may also have been involved. Matron _really_ doesn’t need to know that.

“I see. Have you tried the counter-charm?”

Remus nods the affirmative.

“Very well. Inside, and sit on a bed, Black.”

They shuffle into the darkened room and Matron flicks her wand towards the lamps. This is the first time Remus has seen Sirius’ hair in good light: it’s current shade of pink is fast fading to a silvery-grey (that almost exactly matches his eyes, why does Remus know that, why?). Sirius plunks down on the nearest mattress and smiles expectantly.

“Hold still,” Matron tells him briskly, then brandishes her wand in the familiar pattern to perform the counter-jinx.

Nothing happens.

Matron frowns. She repeats the action. Sirius’ hair stays stubbornly- silver? Green? Remus can’t keep track of how fast it’s changing.

“The impermanent colour-change charm?” She looks to Remus. Again, he nods.

Matron pushes up her sleeves, and flourishes her wand in a new pattern.

“Finite incantatem!”

Again, nothing.

“Stay here, you two. Do _not_ ,” She adds, severely, “Tamper with _anything_ in here. I will know. My office has a caterwauling charm on the door.” She turns on her heel and marches out.

“Honestly,” Sirius smiles up at Remus, “You’d think she doesn’t trust us.”

“Well,” Remus reflects, reasonably, “There was that time we hexed James so we could switch all the stocks of Pepper-Up Potion for firewhiskey.”

Sirius laughs.

“And when we put Sleekeasy in Matron’s hat. We were so tame back in second year.”

“We learned,” Remus replies, drily, and Sirius laughs again. His hair has taken on more colour over the past few minutes, turning to a shimmering lilac.

They stay in silence for a few seconds, then Sirius pats the bedspread with one hand, his eyes tilted up to Remus.

“Don’t hover, Moony. You’re making me nervous.”

“What, that I’ll hex you again?” Remus automatically responds with a joke, but his mouth has gone dry. This could be it. All he has to do is say it.

Sirius pouts. “Please don’t. You didn’t mean to make this permanent, did you?”

Here goes- now or never, Remus.

“I-”

The door swings open, and Professor McGonagall strides in, robes billowing. Remus swallows his heart back down into its proper place and tries to appear calm.

“Mr Lupin. Mr Black. Why am I not surprised?”

“If that’s not a rhetorical question, professor-” Sirius pipes up, but Professor McGonagall cuts him off.

“Yes, that was a rhetorical question, Mr Black. Ah- I see what you mean, Edith.” Remus has seen many varying expressions of disapproval cross Minerva McGonagall’s face; Sirius’ dove-grey hair results in pursed lips and slightly creased eyebrows, but nothing too drastic. “And nothing has reversed the spell?”

“Nothing, Professor,” Sirius shakes his head solemnly.

“Very well. Let us see what we can do.”

Thus proceeds fifteen minutes of Minerva McGonagall performing a series of increasingly complex spells and incantations, all of which have absolutely no effect on Sirius’ now acid green hair. Eventually, she stows her wand back in her robes and purses her lips again.

“I am afraid, Mr Black, that you will just have to wait for the effects of this charm to wear off. I expect it will only last a week or two, but I won’t be able to reverse anything immediately without significant risk to your person, and I am not willing to chance that.” At Sirius’ horrified expression, her face softens slightly. “I would take heart, Mr Black. At least the majority of the student body is not in the castle!” Remus is suddenly struck with the idea that their teacher is trying rather hard not to laugh.

“I would suggest that the pair of you go down to breakfast,” She concludes, “And do try not to get into trouble this Christmas. You all have quite enough on your plates as it is.” With a significant look at Remus, she nods to Matron and takes her leave of the Hospital Wing.

“You heard her,” Matron begins shooing them out, “Breakfast for the both of you, and perhaps a hat for you, Black!”

The door bangs behind them.

“A _hat_ ,” Sirius says disgustedly, and Remus braces himself for an explosion- but Sirius just huffs and stalks off down the hallway, headed in the general direction of the Great Hall, his bilious yellow hair catching the light from the torches he passes under.

 

 

“A hat!” James collapses into laughter once more, “She’s been waiting to get you back for years, Pads. A _hat_!”

“Yes, yes, alright,” Sirius snaps, spearing a sausage with rather more venom than necessary, “Very funny, hah-hah. The problem remains!”

“I don’t see that there is a problem,” Peter says, through a mouthful of toast and jam, “McGonagall’s right. There’s hardly anyone here. And it’s only hair.”

“Only hair? Only hair?!” Sirius practically puffs up with pique, and Remus lays a warning hand on his arm without thinking.

“It’s changing really quickly,” James comments, ladling another spoonful of mushrooms onto his plate, eyeing Sirius with an expression of interest. Remus looks quickly around. The once-black strands are now fading through from a vivid turquoise to a more mellow mauve tone.

“Did you _mean_ to make it permanent, Moony?” James continues.

Remus swallows and takes his hand away. “Not really. Just a side-effect, I s’pose.”

That’s a blatant lie, but none of them know that.

James gives him a curious look, but before anyone can press the point there’s a loud, pointed laugh from across the Great Hall.

“Did you do that yourself, Black?” Severus Snape calls from the almost-empty Slytherin table, “Can’t imagine your parents will like it much.”

Sirius’ hair flares bright red. He tenses where he sits, ready to shout something back, but Remus glances up to the top table to see Professor Dumbledore watching them and he elbows Sirius swiftly in the ribs. Sirius follows his gaze and subsides slightly, but his expression of loathing doesn’t change. James looks over his shoulder, and his lip curls in derision.

“We’ll get him back later, Pads,” He says, in a low tone that inevitably promises trouble to come.

“And at least your parents hate you for being a decent wizard,” Peter points out, sympathetically, “His just hate him because- well, because, he’s Snivellus, probably.”

All four of them laugh.

“You’re right,” Sirius says, decisively, “Fried egg, Moony?”

Their day continues surprisingly normally after that. At Remus’ insistence they spend the morning in the library: James and Sirius hexing quills to fly around above their heads, Remus and Peter gradually building a wall out of transfiguration textbooks and dusty tracts on potion making across the middle of the table.

Remus keeps his head down and steadfastly ignores Sirius’ bright, burnished hair, gleaming gold in the wintry sunshine seeping in through the windows.

They manage two hours before Sirius jinxes- well, pretty much everything within reach, including the detritus collected in the pockets of his robes, to form ranks and charge en masse at the literature barricade. All four of them end up dashing out of the library, parchment held over their heads as knuts and inkpots and several crumbling dog biscuits whiz around them like an angry swarm of billywigs and Miss Pince’s shrieks ring in their ears.

“Immobilus!” James eventually shouts, six flights and one secret passageway later, and their assailants instantly freeze in mid-air. Sirius is laughing like a banshee, and Remus is trying not to wheeze too obviously.

“You really need to learn to control that bloody opugno spell, mate,” Peter gasps, “I think one of them got a chunk of my hair…”

“Serves you right for laughing at mine,” Sirius answers back instantly, running his hand through the gleaming waves to push them back from his temple, “Lunch? I’m starving!”

After lunch, they trek back to the common room: James seizes his quidditch robes and cajoles Sirius into flying with him, but Remus and Peter wave them off and settle down in front of the fire. Three games of gobstones later (both of them are spotted with stinksap juice), the other two return, panting, with bright red faces and frozen fingers.

“Guess who won?” Sirius crows.

“James,” Remus and Peter answer, at the same time. James laughs. Sirius crosses his arms and pouts (Remus isn’t looking, but he can hear it in his voice).

“What?! Why would you say that?!”

“Because James always wins,” Peter points out.

“Because James is the most talented chaser Gryffindor has ever seen,” James chips in, smugly.

“Because we hate you, Pads. Always have,” Remus finishes off, not bothering to look up from the board, “Sorry to break it to you.”

Sirius swats him round the back of the head, cold fingertips just grazing the bare skin of Remus’ neck.

“Arses, the lot of you,” He says, fondly, “Moony, warm my hands before they drop off.”

A familiar request: Sirius’ hands were always freezing. And a familiar leap from Remus’ treacherous heart, and the instant suppression.

Finally, he lifts his head to take in Sirius, rosy-cheeked and smiling, with silvery-purple hair still mussed from flying.

Purple hair…

Wordlessly, Remus holds out his hands and Sirius instantly takes them, sighing in contentment even as Remus shudders slightly at the temperature contrast.

“Always so nice and toasty,” Sirius smiles, and sits himself on the arm of Remus’ chair, “Sorry, everyone, we can’t do anything for a while. Moony’s warming my hands.”

James just shrugs and wanders across the common room.

“Alright. We need to think of a suitable revenge for Snivellus, anyway. Get those ideas flowing!” With that, he sets off up the stairs to their dormitory, presumably to change out of his quidditch robes.

Peter twists his face into an expression of contemplation. Sirius and Remus are silent, too, Remus staring into the fire and reminding himself every few seconds not to stroke the back of Sirius’ hands with his thumbs.

“I always liked the time we hexed all his robes into Gryffindor colours,” Peter pipes up, thoughtfully, several minutes later.

“I preferred when we put snakes in his bed,” Sirius chortles at the memory.

“Those were both a pain in the arse to do,” Remus replies, “Sneaking into the Slytherin dormitories… Why don’t we just hex _his_ hair?”

“And by _we_ , you mean _you_?” Sirius says, his eyes bright and interested (his own charmed hair now a purplish-brown), “ _Clearly_ you’re the master of this spell, Moon-Moons.” He raises his eyebrows slightly.

“Didn’t manage to get your eyebrows to change, though,” Remus answers, frowning slightly, “I only just noticed that.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Sirius chides him, softly, and Remus huffs out a laugh, “And I don’t care if Snivellus’ eyebrows are the same, as long as his hair goes bright pink.”

Remus bows his head. “I’ll do my best.”

“Dinnertime, my men!” James shouts, bounding down the last two steps, and Remus lets go of Sirius’ hands.

“I always lose track of the time over the holidays,” Sirius muses, then jumps to his feet, “And I’m not changed yet- don’t go down without me!” He dashes for the stairs.

 

Several hours later, they’re draped over chairs in the common room, the whole place to themselves. Remus and James are on armchairs, Peter is Wormtail, curled up on the hearthrug. Sirius- unusually still in human form- has taken up the entirety of the battered maroon sofa beside the fire. His hair is falling into his face (now a dark, peaceful shade of navy) and soft snores are escaping from his mouth at brief intervals.

A movement flickers in the corner of Remus’ eye, and he idly turns his head. Then he does a double-take and sits bolt upright.

“Wormtail!” He hisses, “ _Peter_!”

The tabby cat stalking across the flagstones pauses briefly; Wormtail gives a squeak of alarm, and in the blink of an eye a small blonde teenager is sprawled in front of the fire. The fur stands up on the cat’s back and it turns tail, running back towards the stairs to the girls’ dormitories.

James sniggers and even Remus cracks a smile.

“Bastard cat,” Peter groans, “I’m going to bed. And then I’m going to hex that cat tomorrow morning.” He gets to his feet and heads up to the dormitories.

“Poor Peter,” Remus says, idly, then realises Sirius has slept through the whole thing, “Did you tire him out this afternoon, Prongs? Poor puppy.”

James laughs quietly, the firelight reflecting off his glasses.

“It’s all the excitement. I swear he’s like a toddler.”

“Well, I’m not carrying him up to bed,” Remus says it without thinking, then wills himself not to blush. James, thankfully, isn’t looking at him. Instead, he’s scrutinising Sirius’ sleeping face.

“His hair hasn’t changed for ages,” He comments, and Remus’ heart seizes, “Not since he fell asleep, I don’t think.”

“Um, no. No, it hasn’t.”

James frowns at Sirius, then turns his gaze on Remus.

“Do you know what’s making it change?” He asks, slowly, and Remus freezes.

Ten seconds pass, and neither of them say anything. Then Remus bows his head, and mutters the affirmation to his hands.

“Yeah.”

“Well?” James asks, with the air of a man waiting on crucial information.

He has no idea.

Remus doesn’t look at him when he eventually replies.

“It’s- it’s, ah, linked to his emotions. It changes with what he’s feeling. At least, that’s the theory.”

Another pause.

“Merlin’s beard, Moony, _why_?”

“This is all Lily Evans’ fault,” Remus grumbles, his jaw tight, “Blame her.”

“ _Evans_?”

“Do we know another Lily Evans? And _don’t_ wake him up.”

James lowers his voice, but grudgingly. “What’s _she_ got to do with it?”

“She made a bet with me,” Remus says, in a tiny, irritated voice, “That Sirius- that Sirius is in love with me. I know, it’s ridiculous. But I bet her that if I could prove he wasn’t, she’d have to go on a date with you, so-”

“Wait- what?” James sounds like he can’t work out which bit requires his attention the most, “You tried to get Evans to go on a date with me?”

Remus sighs, and supposes he shouldn’t have expected anything less.

“Yeah.”

James Potter, for once in his life, is speechless.

“When you’ve regained your voice, can we discuss the- ah, other bits?” Remus asks, after thirty seconds have elapsed in silence, “But, you know, take your time. I’m sure this is a momentous piece of news-”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” James recovers slightly, and seems to give himself a mental shaking. “When exactly did you make this bet?”

“In potions,” Remus replies, miserably, “You know how we sit together- Sirius was flirting with Marlene, and I made an idle comment and next thing I know she’s insisting Sirius has been in love with me for the past three years and I just haven’t noticed.”

They both look at the sleeping boy on the sofa. James is wearing a deep, concentrated frown that tells Remus he’s thinking quite seriously about something. As for Remus- his heart is pounding, but he feels as though a weight the size of a hippogriff has been lifted from his shoulders.

“Purple…” James says, slowly, and all of Remus’ insides lurch at once. He doesn’t say anything. James turns his head to look at him, and his gaze is very sharp. “That’s Sirius’ favourite colour, isn’t it?”

Remus nods, helplessly.

Another silence.

Then James, with an air of imparting news of tremendous depth and gravity, utters three words.

“Mate, you’re _fucked_.”

Remus wants to argue. He wants to say, I’m not, and that’s the whole problem; actually, I’m fine with the fact that my best friend whom I have been head over heels for since I was thirteen may in fact like me back; James Potter, you are a royal dick; and, also, I haven’t said anything about liking Sirius to you, ever, so why do you assume (absolutely correctly) that I do?

But in the end, all he does is shake his head and mutter, “Yeah, I am a bit.”

They sit in silence, each contemplating the enormity of the situation facing them.

“Sorry about your date with Lily,” Remus says, after a while, “I really thought- I mean, Sirius’ hair goes gold when he’s with the four of us, surely gold-?”

“Nah, mate,” James shakes his head, “He’s had a thing for purple since we met.” Then he seems to realise what he’s said, and grimaces. Remus laughs softly. He feels like he might float up to the ceiling at any moment.

“And you’re-?” James suddenly seems to have realised that Remus’ feelings need to be accounted for, and he waves his hands in a general manner.

Gay? In love with Sirius Black? A total idiot?

Remus shrugs and pulls a face that could almost be a wry smile.

“Yeah, Prongs, I am.”

James shakes his head.

“Bloody hell.”

“I know,” Remus replies, “I know.”

Just at that moment, Sirius stirs on the cushions, and they both freeze. His hair slowly lightens through a royal, then sky blue, before finally settling on a bone white colour. His eyes flicker open.

“You let me fall asleep?” He whines, in a cracked and sleepy voice, and Remus reminds himself to breathe again.

“At least you didn’t get dog hair everywhere,” Remus replies, his voice surprisingly normal, and gets up- trying not to look too hurried. “I’m off to bed, now that I don’t have to dog-sit.”

“I’ll dog-sit you,” Sirius grumbles, but there’s no malice in it.

James just looks like he’s swallowed a gobstopper, but nobody’s paying attention to him, and Remus is able to slip away up the dormitory staircase before anyone else can say anything, particularly about the fact that at the sound of Remus’ voice Sirius’ hair flushed a soft, pale lavender.

 

The morning dawns with bright, snowy light and an irritable, sleep-deprived Remus.

“Snow angels, Moony!” Sirius croons, as they all troop down to breakfast, “Snowball fights! Snowmen! Snow!” He’s very dog-like when he’s enthusiastic: loud and bouncing and underfoot. Remus ignores him.

Ignores him and his fuchsia-coloured hair.

“No wands in snowball fights,” Peter says, firmly, jumping off the end of a moving staircase behind them, “None. Not this year.”

“Just because you can’t cast a decent opugno…” Sirius trills, sweetly, then glances over his shoulder. “You’ve been very quiet this morning, Prongsie. Bee in your bonnet?”

“What?” James appears to jolt out of a reverie. “No, I’m fine. And I’m with Wormtail. No wands, Sirius, you have too much pent-up aggression.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Delinquent.”

“Children,” Remus mutters, “Can we not? It’s not even nine o clock yet.”

“Ah, poor Moon-Moons,” Sirius sighs, dramatically, “Big, bad wolf this morning!”

Remus rolls his eyes and tries to stop his heart pounding quite so hard.

James _knows_ , and it’s only a matter of time before Sirius does, too. After four years of longing, and hoping, and refusing to let himself _want_ …

Sirius might actually want him back.

That thought has kept him awake all night; that thought is making him feel sick and shaky this morning.

Well, that and the moon starting to wax. But mostly it’s Sirius.

Sirius, who apparently has no idea that his hair is turning purple every time Remus so much as looks at him.

Remus withdraws further into himself and wonders how to fix this.

Over breakfast, Sirius glances around and pulls a familiar battered piece of parchment from the inside pocket of his robes.

“No sign of Snivellus,” He mutters, “So let’s see what he’s up to.” He lays his wand casually on the front of the parchment and whispers, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Despite himself, Remus shifts on the bench to peer over Sirius’ shoulder, dismissing the urge to stare at the threads of mauve creeping out through Sirius’ chocolate-brown curls.

“Is that secret passage on the fourth floor showing up?” He asks, quietly, careful to keep his voice too low for the little cluster of second years a few feet along to hear, “It’s not been there the last few times we’ve used it.”

Sirius dismisses a toast-rack with a wave of his wand and lays the map on the middle of the table. James and Peter both lean over and together they each scan a section.

“Passageway’s here!” Peter says, quietly, after a minute or so of intense concentration.

“And I’ve found Snivellus!” James smiles, tapping a corner with the point of his wand. “Library. Should be simple enough to jinx him in that corridor on the second floor, you can hide behind that statue of a drunk centaur, Moony.”

“I need Peter on lookout,” Remus says, instantly, “Don’t you remember when Slughorn caught me in third year? When we were trying to hex Rosier?”

Sirius cracks a smile. “You said you’d developed ‘a fascination with magical statuary’.”

“Exactly,” Remus says, darkly, “And he didn’t shut up about it for two years after that.”

“Fine, Wormtail on look out,” James says, “And Pads and I will be up on the third floor with the map.”

The familiar rhythm of planning a prank is reassuring: as though nothing has really changed, as though they’re still kids causing mischief, even though they’re not, even though in a few months’ time they’ll be out in the real world and Hogwarts will just be a fond memory.

Remus nods and reaches for the bacon, feeling his stomach wring with an emotion he can’t quite name.

“Keep an eye on Snivellus, Prongs,” He says, and they sit and wait.

 

“He’s moving,” James says, forty minutes later with the great hall almost empty around them and the food vanished from the plates, “Heading out of the library.”

“To our stations!” Sirius scrambles to his feet, eyes sparkling, “Good luck, Moony. Avenge my honour.”

Remus has to bow awkwardly to hide his swiftly reddening face. When he’s recovered a vaguely normal tone of voice, he says, “I’ll do my best, Padfoot,” And together, the four of them walk purposefully out of the hall.

 

Remus considers himself pretty good friends with the smooth marble rump of Virinius the Centaur: this corridor is usually a thoroughfare for the student population heading down from the upper floors to the great hall, or, in the case of the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, their common rooms, and it’s normally easy to lob a jinx into the throng with total impunity. Now, though, Snape won’t be surrounded by crowds of teenagers, which means Remus will have to cast the charm with pinpoint accuracy and in complete silence.

Thankfully, after James, he’s the best at non-verbal spells. And, as Sirius pointed out, this spell seems to come uncommonly easily to him.

From the far end of the corridor, there’s a series of rapid squeaks and Remus spots Wormtail scampering across the flagstones to hide in a pool of shadow beneath a tall window. That’s his cue.

A thin, hook-nosed figure slides out from behind the tapestry of Godric Gryffindor’s mortal combat with Ragnok the First. Snape’s looking sallower than ever these days, black eyes glittering from beneath a lank fringe. They all suspect- but can’t prove- that he’s in league with whatever dark group Malfoy and Lestrange ran off to join when they left, and, as Sirius derisively says, it hasn’t done anything for his good looks.

Remus watches him draw near, then carefully levels his wand. None of them had thought to bring the cloak down, but he’s fairly well-hidden, and Snape shouldn’t notice him unless the jinx goes drastically wrong.

He takes a deep breath and thinks, with as much effort as he can muster, _Pigmentus_!

There’s a barely detectable whoosh, and Snape’s hair blooms pink from the roots all the way down to the tips.

Remus has three seconds, perhaps, to enjoy his triumph; after that, things go drastically wrong.

First, a shooting pain up his leg. A familiar side-effect of the moon in ascendancy, but it makes him lose his footing on the statue’s plinth.

Second, a movement in the corner of Snape’s eye. He stops and spins around.

Third, the sight of Remus Lupin, wand drawn, apparently leaping out from behind a statue of a wobbly-legged centaur, sends Snape shooting for his wand.

It’s over very quickly. Remus is falling, and then there’s a curse being shouted that he doesn’t recognise, and white hot pain is blooming across his torso in slashing cuts.

It takes a handful of panicked, searing heartbeats to realise that he’s now covered in blood. He thinks, slightly hysterically, that this really should be happening next week, he’s used to that- and there are running footsteps, a cacophony, a thundering.

“Remus!”

“Hey! HEY! GET BACK HERE, YOU FUCKING COWARD!”

“Sirius, stay _here_ -”

“Let _go_ of me-”

“He needs the hospital wing, now-”

“Moony? Sirius, _don’t_.”

“That bastard, that fucking bastard- Moony, Moony, we’re here-”

“Go and get Professor McGonagall, Wormy- take the map-”

Remus can feel dizziness swirling around him like a black ocean, begging to swallow him whole. The _pain_ \- it isn’t _fair_ , this should only be the full moon, not now, too-

“Help me, Pads-”

“There’s so much blood-” Remus has never heard that sickened note in Sirius’ voice- wait, no, he has, he has…

 

Third year. Sirius was sat alone on his bed when Remus came in. He was poring over a crumbling bit of parchment- he looked up guiltily when he heard Remus’ footsteps. Remus raised his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” He said, awkwardly, “I was just-”

“Moony,” Sirius said, and his voice was a note too flat, “I- is this-?”

He held out the parchment. Remus, curious, walked over and took it.

**_An Informational Pamphlet on the Plight of Werewolves in the Magical Community_ **

**_By Newton Scamander_ **

He looked quickly at Sirius.

“There weren’t many books in the library,” Sirius said, in that same, flat tone, “But, um, this one is supposed to be- good.”

Remus gazed down at the yellowing parchment and carefully, deliberately opened it.

_‘A werewolf is one of the most wretched creatures in all wizarding society, for no matter how accomplished, or kind, or well-mannered he may be, his fellow wizards will often shun and occasionally brutalise him for no other crime than existing as he is. There is a great ignorance surrounding werewolves: despite popular opinion, a werewolf, in human form, is no more or less dangerous than an average wizard. Rather, they endure huge pain and suffering due to an affliction they did not seek out and have no way of alleviating._

**_A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Here follows a detailed and gruesome description of a werewolf’s transformation, and we advise any witches of a sensitive or delicate nature not to read the following passages, lest they become distressed._ **

_When discussing the transformation with those afflicted, all emphasised the great physical pain they experience with every full moon. This is unsurprising, when properly considered: to change between human and wolf form, most every bone in the body must contort, shrinking or growing with astounding rapidity. Those who have taken Skellegro will appreciate a little of the agony involved in the process, but the pain experienced by a werewolf is multiplied a hundred fold and must be endured with every cycle of the moon. Here follows my documentation of a complete transformation I witnessed while in Nottingham, in an attempt to convey the sheer physical torture involved in the process:_

_“First to change is the eyes. As soon as the individual is exposed to the moon’s light, their pupils expand and elongate, the iris covering the entirety of the eyeball until it takes on the appearance of the eyeball of the common wolf. This it felt as an intense burning in the eye socket, and one individual described how they tried to claw their own eyes out when they experienced their first transformation._

_At this point, the transformation is now irreversible. The bones in the legs and face begin to elongate, the skull changing into a more canine form, the teeth growing into sharp points, the nose becoming more pointed and the jaw changing utterly. Most werewolves experience throbbing pains in these areas when in human form as the moon waxes, perhaps as part of a preparation process the body undertakes automatically. The leg bones nearly double in length, creating the strange half-running, half-crouching gait most werewolves adopt when in wolf form. The muscles in the legs are extraordinarily painful at this point and directly after the transformation, due to the rapid changes in their structure and attachment points._

_As these changes are progressing, the spine begins to contort, vertebra becoming larger, stretching the skin and forcing the ribs to expand also. Although I have not had the opportunity to study this, I suspect the werewolf’s heart also becomes enlarged as part of the transformation, imparting greater stamina and strength to the wolf._

_Finally, the arm bones lengthen in a similar fashion to the legs, the hands becoming paw-like and claws forming out of fingernails. The full transformation I witnessed took perhaps five minutes to complete, and at the end of it the subject, whom I considered a friend, would have torn my heart from my chest had he had the opportunity, both without knowing what he was doing, nor knowing who I was._

_I may describe these events dispassionately, but I cannot emphasise enough what terrible suffering a transformation entails. Not only are the physical effects (of both the human to wolf and wolf to human transformations) violently painful, but the guilt and horror at what might happen when the human self has no control over the wolf is a constant companion for all those I spoke to.”’_

Remus stopped reading. Sirius was looking uncertainly up at him, his face rather pale.

“Is that- how it is?” He asked, haltingly, “Every full moon?”

Remus felt a tightness in his throat. It burned.

He nodded.

 

Perhaps that had been the moment, looking back at it, that Sirius had decided… Decided to become Padfoot… Persuaded the others… Maybe…

Remus’ thoughts are scattering, he feels as though his limbs are only loosely connected to his body, pain blurring everything into a mess of impression and memory and colour.

“Come on, Moony- we’ve got you-”

If they had him, it would be alright…

Remus lets himself drift away.


	2. The Golden Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I want to say thank you so much for all the lovely feedback on this fic. Secondly, Merry Christmas to you all! (Or if you don't celebrate Christmas, then I hope you are able to pass the coldest and darkest time of the year with things that make you happy).  
> Thirdly, I have split this chapter up a little. There is an epilogue- a plotline that made sense to me but wasn't long enough to develop into its own fic. I've added it on the end! Be warned, it is not a very happy one.  
> I think that's all I have to say- thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (P.S. The title of this fic comes from the Snow Patrol song The Golden Floor)

 James has never known time to drag so slowly. He stares at the iron bolts hammered into the door, and wills it to open… Now.

 _Now_.

Please, for the love of Merlin, open!

The door does not open.

James looks around at Sirius, slumped on the stone bench next to him, his face very white and his hair jet black. He too is staring at the door like the sheer power of thought will force it to open. Peter is on his other side, blonde fringe still messy from pelting through the castle, expression miserable.

James’ stomach feels like it’s filled with lead.

If he’d only given Moony the cloak…

“Mr Potter, Mr Black, Mr Pettigrew.” Professor Slughorn comes hurrying down the corridor, green robes flapping with every bouncing stride. His face is as worried as James has ever seen it. “The headmaster would like to see you in his office- bad business, boys, very bad indeed!”

“James,” Sirius mutters, and James turns to see his hair bleaching to an ashy grey and his face terrified, “I can’t leave him alone.”

“He’s not going to be alone, mate,” James tries to reassure him, “Come on.”

Sirius gets to his feet like he’s aged fifty years in the past hour, and they trail in Slughorn’s wake away from the doors to the hospital wing.

James is fairly sure they aren’t going to be expelled- after all, Snape cursed Moony without provocation. The thought of it still makes his fists clench with fury. And Remus, sprawled on the ground, gasping as blood gushed from his chest and stomach…

They’ve reached the gargoyle. Slughorn barks, “Liquorice Allsorts,” And the stone creature springs to one side.

“Go on, go on,” Slughorn ushers them forward, and one by one they climb onto the rotating staircase, James in the lead.

The door at the top swings open to admit them.

“Come in,” Professor Dumbledore calls. He sounds very grave.

James squares his shoulders, and steps into the office. He’s been in here only once before, after they’d accidentally set fire to a classroom in fifth year: then, he’d been terrified for his future at Hogwarts. Now he’s just terrified for his friend.

“Please, sit down.” Professor Dumbledore is seated in his high, carved chair behind the enormous desk on the dais in his office. He gestures to three classroom chairs facing him, and wordlessly, they sit down. James takes the middle seat. He’s going to take the blame for this, regardless of how much Dumbledore decides to give out.

For a moment, the headmaster doesn’t say anything. He simply surveys them, grey hair spilling over his shoulders, piercing blue eyes scanning each student in turn. Peter fidgets. Sirius just stares into space, his hair returned to shadowy black. James holds the Professor’s gaze whenever he can.

“Please, headmaster, sir- is Remus going to be OK?” Peter’s voice eventually breaks the silence, squeaky with nerves and tinged with guilt.

“I think, Mr Pettigrew, that the combined efforts of the Hogwarts teachers will be enough to nurse him to a full recovery,” Professor Dumbledore replies, “We are rather skilled at magic, you know.”

Silence falls again.

“Mr Black, would I be correct in saying that your hair is changing colour?” The Professor is eyeing Sirius with an inscrutable expression.

Realising that Sirius may not be capable of speech, James answers for him.

“Moony hexed him, sir. Yesterday. Snape insulted him, so we thought we’d get him back- but we only meant to jinx his hair, sir, I swear, Remus wasn’t doing anything else.”

“I believe you,” Professor Dumbledore says, simply, and James lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “However.”

He looks around at them all again.

“However,” He continues, “My discussions with Mr Snape have brought to light interesting accusations. Accusations about the three of you.”

 _Shit_.

James tries not to give anything away.

“Mr Snape has told me, repeatedly, and with some vehemence, that the three of you are illegal animagi, and that you regularly sneak out of the castle to accompany Mr Lupin on his- ah, monthly excursion. Of course,” Dumbledore peers over the top of his half-moon spectacles, “Such accusations are very serious.” There’s a very pregnant pause.

“And…” The headmaster continues, “Rather improbable, seeing as none of you have ever been caught roaming the castle at night; not to mention the extraordinary skill required to become an animagus- quite beyond the abilities of three teenaged wizards.”

James doesn’t dare look, but he has a feeling Sirius’ hair has turned the exact shade of green of a mandrake leaf. Dumbledore _knows_. He has to know, and they are going to be expelled after all.

“That being said,” Dumbledore, says, and James doesn’t think he’s imagining the note of warning in his tone, “If such activities were _proven_ , I would have no choice but to expel the three of you. Do you understand?”

“We understand, Professor,” James says, trying to add as much gravity to his voice as he can muster without sounding as disbelieving as he feels- if his impression is correct, they’ve just managed to get away with the most illegal thing they’ve ever done.

Sirius speaks up, suddenly. “Will Snape be punished, Professor?”

“ _Sirius_ ,” James hisses, but Dumbledore holds up his hand.

“Rest assured, Mr Black, Mr Snape will have to face the consequences of his actions.” He gives Sirius a searching look, then sits back in his chair. “The three of you may go. Give my regards to Mr Lupin, when he is awake.”

James stands up and nods awkwardly. The three of them climb off the dais and walk quickly back across the office.

“Christ,” Peter whines, when they’re a few passageways away from the stone gargoyle, “I can’t believe we got away with that!”

James blows out a breath. “You and me both, mate.”

Sirius ignores them both, and walks even faster.

The doors to the hospital wing are still closed when they reach them, although five minutes after they arrive, Slughorn comes bustling out.

“Sorry, boys. Yes- yes, he’s going to be alright, but the situation’s delicate- now, please excuse me.” He hurries away down the corridor.

Sirius looks despairing.

The triumph in Dumbledore’s office is forgotten: James feels nauseous again. Peter stares at a nondescript spot on the wall and chews his nails, and together they mark the hours crawling past.

 

The sky darkens outside, the light from the torches burning stronger as they wait. At six o clock, Professor McGonagall sticks her head out of the door and stares at the three of them as they lurch to their feet. She doesn’t seem surprised to find them there.

“Mr Lupin is going to be fine,” She tells them, her voice firm, “But he needs a night of rest, and he absolutely isn’t strong enough for visitors. Go down to the great hall and eat something- yes, you too, Mr Black! I will send a house elf to fetch you as soon as he wakes up, and that is a good deal more than I would normally do!”

James realises that they aren’t going to get a better offer, so he grasps Sirius’ sleeve and tugs him towards the stairwell.

After a tasteless dinner (the food is as good as ever, it’s just that none of them can stomach it), they return to their vigil outside the hospital wing. At least, they do until Professor McGonagall storms out at a quarter to midnight and demands, in no uncertain terms, that they return to their dormitory immediately, and it will serve them right if Remus wakes up at five the next morning and they are all too tired to come and see him.

James is too worn out to pick a fight with their angry transfiguration teacher, and Peter is actually nodding off on his shoulder, so they trudge back to their dormitory in silence. When they reach the common room, however, Sirius shrugs away from them and goes to sit on the sofa.

“I’m just going to wait here,” He says, in a taut voice, and James glances at Peter. Pete, bless him, does know how to take a hint- without saying anything, he slopes across to the staircase and climbs out of sight.

James swallows.

_He’s going to have to tell him._

There’s no other way around it- and this is what you do, isn’t it, in this kind of situation? Mortal peril, shaken faith, that kind of thing. You tell one of your best friends that not only is your other best friend in love with them, the feelings are reciprocated- at least according to the colour of their hair.

 _Bloody hell_ , James thinks- but he also feels a strange sense of relief. Maybe he _had_ known, in a weird, unconscious sort of way.

“Pads,” He says, in the tone that’s usually reserved for quidditch finals and discussions about Lily Evans, and prepares to launch himself into a stirring, heartfelt speech- but Sirius interrupts him. Only James doesn’t quite catch what he says.

“What was that?” He asks, feeling slightly derailed.

“I’m in love with him,” Sirius tells the fire, and his hair is a deep, dark purple, like the heart of an amethyst.

“I- _yeah_. Of course you are,” James replies, flabbergasted, “And he’s in love with you. That was _literally_ what I was just about to say.”

Sirius doesn’t appear to register that James has spoken at all.

Then, all of a sudden, his hair flares a silvery-colour that’s so bright it’s almost like a lumos charm around his head.

“What did you say?” He says, his eyes wide and frantic, and James has to fight a bizarre urge to laugh.

“Remus is in love with you,” He repeats, and all of a sudden a giggle bursts out of his mouth before he can stop it. “We _are_ talking about Remus, right?”

And then he’s laughing properly, and Sirius makes an incoherent noise and launches himself off the sofa, wand utterly forgotten.

Which is how Bibby the house elf finds two teenagers wrestling on the floor of the Gryffindor common room at one in the morning; one boy laughing hysterically, the other, with hair that glows like occamy egg-shells, making unintelligible noises that sound half like rage, half like incandescent joy.

“Um, Professor McGonagall is asking me to tell sirs that Mr Lupin is awake!” Bibby chirps, uncertainly, and both wizards freeze in place.

“I’ll tell Wormy,” The one with glasses slightly askew pants.

“I’ll fetch his chocolate stash,” The other says, jumping to his feet.

And five minutes later, the four of them are racing down the stairs of Gryffindor Tower, Sirius’ hair lighting the way like a beacon.

 

Remus swims back to consciousness slowly, and with great effort. For a moment, the pain disorientates him, and he wonders if it’s the day after full moon- but no, no, it was _Snape_ -

“Ah, Mr Lupin! Good to see your eyes again.”

Matron’s familiar gruff voice cuts into his confusion. He blinks, and peers around. The familiar white drapes and soft lights of the hospital wing come into view, along with a figure in green hovering on his left- Slughorn, he thinks.

“Remus, my boy!” Slughorn smiles genially, but he looks exhausted, “Gave us quite a scare there, I have to tell you. Nasty business.”

From the other side of Remus’ bed, Matron frowns.

“Nasty curse, I think, sir,” Remus manages to say, then realises that his mouth tastes like a sewer and pulls a face.

“Yes, sorry about that,” Slughorn cranes over him and scrutinises his face. “Probably the mandrake in the draught I cooked up for you. Few more minutes and-”

“Few more days and you’ll be right as rain,” Matron cuts across the other teacher’s dire prognosis. She pours Remus a glass of water and helps him sit up to drink it. Perhaps, years ago, this would have made him ashamed- but he has no secrets from this woman. She has seen him at his weakest and never flinched.

“Thank you,” He tells her, after he’s drained the glass. He realises that his torso feels oddly stiff, and gingerly lifts up the covers to find his midriff swathed in thick bandages.

“Ah! You’re awake!” Professor McGonagall bustles into view at the end of his bed. She also looks tired, but a relieved smile is tugging at the edge of her mouth. “Your friends will be here shortly. I have just dispatched a house elf to Gryffindor Tower.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Remus repeats, and subsides back against the pillows. The familiar ache and itching burn of healing wounds is beginning to grate at him; but by the sound of it, he’s lucky to be here at all. Oddly, the thought doesn’t worry him too much.

At least, it doesn’t until there’s a clattering of running feet outside and a hammering of fists on the door. Slughorn jumps, but Remus finds a small smile beginning to creep across his face. At the sight of James, Peter and Sirius, shuffling into the hospital wing in their dressing gowns, his entire chest seems to warm by half a degree, like he’s just downed a shot of firewhiskey.

“Hello, mate,” James says, raising one hand in a limp kind of greeting. But Remus’ attention is suddenly devoted to Sirius.

Sirius, with his gorgeous face, and his windswept (how is it windswept? Has he been outside?), royal purple hair. His smile is hesitant, but something in his face seems different. Like a barrier has come down- one that has been there so long, not even Remus knew it existed.

“Hey, Moony,” He says, softly.

Peter, unnoticed by either, looks from one to the other. He opens his mouth to say something, glances at the teachers looking on, and closes it again.

“This is all very touching,” Matron says, briskly, “But it is nearly half past one in the morning, and I for one would like some sleep tonight. Mr Lupin is also going to need a good deal of rest. I’ll keep him in here for a few days- you may visit him for two hours in the afternoons, no longer. He needs peace and quiet.”

The way James’, Sirius’ and Peter’s expressions all fall simultaneously would be quite funny, were Remus not so touched.

“Now,” Professor McGonagall draws herself to her full height, “To bed. All of you. You may see him tomorrow.”

And nobody argues with Professor McGonagall. Sirius meekly puts a Honeydukes package on the foot of Remus’ bedspread, gives him one last look, and traipses out after the others.

Matron dims the lamps and measures Remus a sleeping draught, for which he’s very grateful- otherwise he’d be awake, thinking of Sirius, all night.

 

 

“Liquorice allsorts isn’t some sort of… satanic incantation- it’s a perfectly nice muggle sweet!”

“No. No, I refuse to believe it. Dumbledore’s office is guarded by a demon that can only be assuaged using the secret spell- _Liquorice Allsorts_.”

It’s two days after the incident in the second-floor corridor, and Remus is almost ready to be dismissed from the hospital wing: which is fortunate, because, as Remus is fond of pointing out, otherwise the entirety of his Christmas holidays would be spent in an infirmary, which is no place to pass the most joyful season of all. Even if your friends are providing regular entertainment by sneaking in (using an extraordinary variety of methods) and inevitably being chased out by an increasingly infuriated Matron.

At the moment, however, visiting hours have been reinstated before Remus’ final check-over, and he’s sat up in bed with Sirius lounging over his legs (“Well, they weren’t cursed, were they?”), James snacking on the last of his chocolate stash and Peter curled in the only chair available, practising the wand movements for self-transfiguration.

“I should have got you some muggle sweets for Christmas,” Remus muses, reaching over and confiscating _his_ chocolate from James, “You both are frightfully uneducated in the joys of a sherbet dipper.”

Sirius raises his eyebrows in a way that can only be termed ‘suggestive’ and they all laugh (Remus firmly keeping his mind _out_ of the gutter, because nothing had been said, nothing had been discussed-).

There’s an impatient cough from the foot of the bed and Matron glares at them all.

“If you _don’t_ mind, I need to examine Mr Lupin before you can whisk him away for festive frivolities. Out!”

Remus waits until the door has swung closed behind them before pushing the covers back and unbuttoning his shirt without preamble. Compared to the scars already covering his body, Snape’s curse has left him with little more than scratches, but apparently they showed a distinct disinclination to stop bleeding, which is why Matron has been watching him like a hawk for the past two days and forcing foul-tasting potions into him at regular intervals. Finally, however, the bandages have come off, and Matron only spends ten minutes pointing her wand at him and making him take deep breaths before grudgingly allowing him to leave.

“I don’t want to see you back here until next week!” She tells him, as he redresses and gets to his feet.

“Of course, Matron,” Remus tells her, “Merry Christmas!”

“Hmph,” Is all the reply he gets, as she turns back to address the state of the bed, but he could swear she’s almost smiling.

Sirius whoops when Remus slides around the edge of the door, his hair back to a regal violet and a bright grin on his face. Remus’ stomach swoops at the sight of it.

There’s been no chance to tell him- no time when they haven’t been surrounded by others, and the fear that they might never talk about it is gnawing ever stronger in the back of Remus’ mind-

Then James claps him on the back and Peter accidentally gives himself a pair of whopping ginger sideburns, and the moment of worry is lost to sides aching with laughter and Sirius leaping ahead of them down the corridor like- well, just like an overexcited puppy.

 

By six o clock, Remus is exhausted. There are only four days left until the full moon, and being cursed only seems to have exacerbated his usual fatigue. He yawns all through dinner (according to the other three, Snape hasn’t been seen at mealtimes for the past three days, and Peter comments that he hopes he’s strung up in the dungeons somewhere: Remus doubts it, but it’s a satisfying image, nonetheless), oblivious to the stares and whispers of the other students, and stumbles back up to the common room with sharp pains shooting through his legs and spine.

When he trips and nearly falls through the portrait hole, James and Sirius wordlessly move either side of him and hook his arms round their shoulders. Remus would very much like to say that it isn’t necessary, but it so clearly is that he just lets them help without a word.

“Bed? Or armchair?” James asks.

Remus considers it. “Bed,” He admits, and his stomach turns over. Another day, and putting off talking to Sirius is only going to make it worse…

But he aches all over now, and he knows from past experience that sleep is the only available cure.

“Night, Moony,” Peter waves, his face concerned, and Remus raises a hand in acknowledgement, before allowing James and Sirius to manoeuvre him carefully up the stairs.

He’s not sure how many times they’ve done this: taken his weight when he can no longer support it, carried him to sanctuary. The very feeling of it is familiar, of Sirius’ slightly laboured breathing, of the stretch in the muscles across his shoulders. There’s pain, but it feels like home, nonetheless.

“Steady, down you go-” James is careful not to let go of Remus before he’s safely seated on the edge of his own mattress, and then he stands up.

“Pyjamas, Moony?” Sirius asks, and if Remus weren’t so tired he might recognise the undercurrent of tension in his voice. As it is, all he does is shake his head. He’s not sure he can stand Sirius seeing him naked right now, even though it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

“Chocolate?” Sirius asks, even more tentatively, and Remus half-smiles at that.

“Please,” He says, softly, and Sirius turns to rummage in his trunk, then stops abruptly.

“Where the bloody hell has Prongs gone?”

“Hmm?” Remus tilts his head and realises, with a sudden lurch to the heart, that they have the dormitory to themselves. He instantly resolves to hex James the next time he sees him.

Sirius turns back to look quizzically at him; Remus’ heart is now thundering.

Now. He has to say it now.

“Sirius-”

“Yes?”

The only light is coming from the stove in the centre of the room, but Remus can still see Sirius’ hair changing, glowing. It gives him just enough courage to keep talking.

“I l- I like you. I _like_ you.”

God, could he be any worse at this? Sirius is the only person he’s ever considered writing a sonnet for, and all he can manage is a stuttering, half-baked confession that sounds just like a teenage boy. Well, that’s what I am, Remus thinks, desperately to himself, so at least it’s honest.

Sirius takes a step towards him, and then he’s right in front of him and bending down and Remus isn’t breathing, he isn’t thinking at all-

Their lips press together, and their noses bump and there’s no finesse in the way Remus’ tongue slips inside Sirius’ mouth and they’re both silent apart from careful, quiet breathing; but it’s still _right_.

It could be the most right thing Remus has ever known.

A whole new dimension of right, actually.

Sirius pulls back first, his eyes wide and his hair that bright, beautiful purple that will probably be Remus’ favourite colour forever more.

“I like you, too,” He breathes, very quietly, and it’s not smooth or practised or seductive and Remus can’t imagine loving him more.

“Good,” Is all he can think of to say, and then they’re kissing again. Sirius probably tries to drift down to sit on the bed, but he loses concentration and sits down rather faster than he intended, and Remus laughs before realising that it makes his back hurt too much. Sirius reads the pain in his expression and frowns. He moves to get up again, but Remus reaches out for him.

He doesn’t have to say anything.

“OK,” Sirius sighs, “OK. As if I could leave now, anyway.” The last is said with just the kind of wonder Remus feels, and his heart squeezes in his chest.

Sirius wraps an arm around Remus’ shoulders and lets him lean against him, carefully pressing light kisses to his hair, to his temple, to the spot above his eyebrows…

 

“No, no, no, Moony dearest- no sleeping in clothes, come on-”

Remus looks up groggily. His neck aches abysmally; the dormitory is even darker.

And Sirius is still here. Still smiling down at him, still holding him close, still glowing silver in the gloom.

“Fine,” Remus groans, and sits up. “Pyjamas?”

“I can do that,” Sirius’ smile stretches until it’s almost a grin, and he slowly gets to his feet, “Which pair?”

“Grey ones,” Remus mumbles, and subsides onto the covers until his upper body is flat on the mattress and his legs are dangling over the side of the bed.

There’s the creak of rusty runners and a rustling noise as Sirius digs through Remus’ drawers.

“Got them.” Sirius closes the drawer. Remus simply lets his eyes drift shut. He hadn’t expected to feel so… calm.

So content.

Sirius has always been fireworks in his chest, butterbeer in his veins, lightning crackling across his marred skin and sparking whenever they touch- and he still is all of those things.

But he’s somehow more, now. Somehow… warm. Safe.

Remus is finally secure enough to fall, to trust his heart in its entirety.

“Moony…” Sirius is standing over him now, he can feel it. He doesn’t feel the need to _move_ , though.

“Do you _want_ me to manhandle you out of your clothes?” Sirius asks, amused: Remus can hear it in his voice. Remus tilts his head in a nod.

Sirius laughs quietly, and an instant later Remus feels sure fingers encircling the top button of his shirt and freeing it from its fastening. And _then_ his brain and body reconnect, and he realises quite what he’s just asked Sirius to do.

“Shit.” Remus struggles upright and forces his eyes open to see Sirius leant over him, his expression a blend of nervousness, fondness and concern. “Sorry, I didn’t think-”

“It’s OK, Moony,” Sirius reassures him, not taking his hand from Remus’ chest, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, “I guessed you didn’t want- you know. Thought we were just doing what we normally do.”

Remus nods slowly. What they normally do is lie side-by-side in the dark, separated by a frankly unhealthy number of inches, until they fall asleep (or back to sleep, if it’s Sirius’ nightmares that have driven them into the same bed).

“Maybe a bit closer?” He asks. He tries not to sound plaintive, but he’s pretty sure he fails. Sirius’ smile grows and the tension fades from his face.

“Excellent decision, Moony,” He says, with mocking gravity, and moves onto the next button. Remus would dearly like to be awake and paying attention to this, but unfortunately finding out that his deepest love is apparently reciprocated hasn’t worked as a painkiller, and his spine is throbbing worse than ever.

“D’you mind if I just… Lie down again?” He asks, although he’s already drifting back down to his pillows.

“Not at all,” Sirius soothes. Remus shirt is open enough to bare his sternum- he can feel the warm air against his skin.

Sirius has undressed him before, when Remus has been too weak to do it himself- but he’s always done it with James’ and Peter’s help, one doing the shirt, one doing the shoes, and the unlucky third on ‘trouser duty’, as they termed it.

But now it’s just him. Remus lets his eyes close and focuses in on the feel of Sirius’ slightly overlong nails scraping against his skin as they twist around his shirt buttons. It helps take his mind off the pain.

“Shirt’s coming off, Moony,” Sirius warns.

“Wahey,” Remus quips, and they both laugh.

“Arse,” Sirius chides him, fondly, and Remus can’t help himself.

“I believe that comes later,” He replies, drily, and Sirius cuffs him on the shoulder, but he’s laughing too.

“You are unbelievable, Remus Lupin,” He mutters, before smoothing his hands up over Remus’ bare shoulders and beginning to push the shirt down. “Can you sit up a bit? Having Prongs to do the heavy lifting makes this him a whole lot easier.”

“By all means,” Remus sighs the words, unconcerned with making more of an effort, “Go and fetch him. Do you think he’ll cuddle, too?”

He gets another cuff for that, but Sirius’ giggle is enough to persuade him to move. The shirt finally comes off, and Remus relaxes again.

“Legs up, dear,” Sirius gently pushes at his knees, encouraging him to pull his calves up onto the bed. “Shoes next.”

“And then trouser duty,” Remus points out, eyes still closed, “However will you survive?”

There’s a brief pause, and Remus wonders if he’s said something wrong.

“I’ll think of it as good practice,” Sirius finally replies, his voice low, and all the energy Remus has left goes into flushing bright red.

Sirius chuckles quietly, then gets to work on his laces.

First the left shoe, then the right; Sirius drops them carelessly at the end of the bed.

And then his hands are gently undoing the top button of Remus’ trousers, and Remus forgets how to breathe.

Sirius probably notices, but he carries on as though everything is normal, and Remus is grateful for it. He’s in no shape to take things further with Sirius tonight (even though he wants it, through the fog of exhaustion and pain he wants it). He holds his breath and counts to twenty and by the time he’s done he’s naked on the bed apart from his boxers and socks.

Sirius pulls on the pyjama bottoms first, sliding them up over Remus’ thighs and settling the waistband just above his hips, careful not to touch any skin. Then he unceremoniously jams the pyjama top over Remus’ head, squashing his hair flat and feeding his arms through the sleeves last.

“There you are, our poor, defenceless cub,” Sirius plants a kiss on Remus’ forehead before he knows what’s happening. “Let me just get my own pyjamas on.”

“Mmhmm,” Remus can’t respond with anything more.

A few minutes elapse; Remus can hear Sirius moving around the dorm, humming off-key. Then the mattress sinks on his right as Sirius climbs up next to him.

“I’ve left the other two a note,” He says, and Remus can feel him tugging at the covers until he can spread them over them both, “Telling them not to bother us. Hopefully that should mentally scar them enough to stay away.”

Remus snorts, then reaches blindly out for Sirius. His hands find a waist, then a shoulder, and Sirius’ hair somehow gets tangled in his fingers.

“Hold on, hold on,” Sirius huffs, then shuffles closer until Remus can wrap his arms entirely around Sirius’ slender figure.

“S’rry,” Remus tells Sirius’ bicep, his face pressed firmly into the soft fabric with no intention of moving, ever.

Sirius just chuckles, and, in what seems like no time at all, Remus is asleep.

 

 

Christmas Day dawns bright and snowy, and Remus doesn’t wake up until ten. When he finally returns to the land of the living, his immediate sensations are of hunger, discomfort and a familiar, itching tiredness that won’t disappear until the full moon sinks below the horizon- but then-

“Merry Christmas, Moony!”

Remus cracks an eye open to see Sirius leaning over him, an enormous grin plastered over his face, and his heart leaps in an altogether more pleasant sensation.

Sirius looks over his shoulder, violet hair curling above the colour of his dressing gown.

“He’s awake!”

“Fucking finally,” There’s James, lolloping over to the other side of the bed, still in his pyjamas and his hair stuck up in all directions, “He’s been making us wait for you to wake up to open our presents!”

“Sorry,” Remus answers, voice snarled from sleep.

“Proper Christmas traditions must be observed, Jimothy!” Sirius scolds, and Remus snickers as James glares and swears at him, “Now, breakfast, Moony dearest?”

“Already like an old married couple,” Peter remarks, coming out of the bathroom, “Happy Christmas, Moony!”

Remus is fervently glad he’s too tired to blush.

“Merry Christmas,” He mumbles, “And I’m pretty sure ‘old married couple’ refers to constant squabbling and petty insults.”

“You do that anyway,” James points out, and Remus laughs. Sirius, on the other hand, frowns.

“I do not _squabble_ ,” He pouts, and Remus finally swings himself upright.

“Whatever you say, dear,” He grins and ruffles Sirius’ hair, sidestepping the inevitable retaliation. “Did someone say breakfast?”

 

 

An hour, two breakfasts (James, Sirius and Peter had eaten one before Remus woke up, but gamely attempted a second whilst Remus attacked the bacon) and one levicorpus later, they are assembled around the fire in the Gryffindor common room, James still wincing and rubbing the back of his head where it had caught the bedpost.

“Honestly, Prongs, you didn’t hit it that hard-”

“How would you know? I could be having a- a what-do-you-call-it, haemorrhoid-“

Remus laughs so hard he nearly falls off his armchair. The other three look at him non-plussed.

“ _Haemorrhage_ , Prongs,” He eventually gasps out, “Haemorrhage. Merlin help us if you ever end up at Saint Mungos.”

“And,” Sirius says, managing to look very self-righteous despite being draped across Remus’ lap, “You deserved it.”

“So said the goblet to the cauldron,” Remus comments, without malice, running his hand over Sirius’ shining gold hair. Sirius pulls a face at him but pushes into the contact nonetheless.

“Fine,” James grumbles, “How about I go and fetch the bloody things from upstairs?”

“I think that would be acceptable,” Remus replies. His plan for the day is to move as little as possible, and to have at least one hand on Sirius at all times.

“I don’t think I’ve ever opened presents before twelve on Christmas Day,” Peter comments, and at the confused expressions of the other three, he answers, “Church. Mum’s very keen.”

“Well, consider us your liberators, Wormy,” James says and jumps to his feet, “I’ll be right back.”

“Liberators by…” Remus checks his watch, “Half an hour.”

Peter just shrugs, and they settle into a comfortable silence.

Well, as comfortable as Remus ever gets, the day before a full moon.

A minute or so later, there’s a crashing sound on the stairs to the boys’ dormitories.

“Ah, fuck! Assistance, please, Padfoot!”

“Coming, my lady love!” Sirius rolls his eyes, then has a quick look around the common room.

“Padfoot…” Remus says, in a warning tone.

“There’s nobody here, Moony!” Sirius wheedles, but Remus makes his face stern.

“Humans have two hands,” He points out, and Sirius sighs, before getting off the armchair and flouncing away. Remus watches him go fondly.

“Padfoot!” James bellows, and Sirius breaks into a grudging run, up the staircase and out of sight.

They come down the stairs carrying a towering stack of gift-wrapped (with varying levels of skill) packages between them, and Remus and Peter applaud: it seems like the right thing to do.

“Alright, spoilsport,” Sirius huffs, unceremoniously dumping the presents on the hearthrug, “Which ones are yours?”

“Blue paper,” Remus answers, “They’re all labelled.”

“Aha! Catch, Prongsie!” Sirius lobs a soft, rectangular package at him. James, being James, catches it. “And Wormtail!”

“Don’t throw it!” Peter cautions.

“Yes, it would be a shame to set fire to my carefully selected Christmas gift,” Remus says, lazily, “Not to mention lovingly wrapped. Is that greaseproof paper, Prongs?”

James glares at him. “I had to improvise, OK?”

“You mean you asked the house elves for help.”

“No, I did that,” Peter pipes up, “Which is why mine are actually neat this year.”

“Good work, Wormy!” Sirius throws another present at Remus, who doesn’t even bother lifting his arms to catch it, “Very resourceful. And very lazy, Moony Moon.”

“Furry little problem,” Remus replies, looking down at the mismatched presents that have collected in his lap. James’ are, obviously, the ones wrapped in greaseproof paper; Peter’s has garish green and red wrapping, neatly spellotaped; Sirius actually purchased the joke wrapping paper from Zonkos that writes tailored insults to whomever the gift is addressed to (his currently reads ‘Your face is far too nice to be allowed’, and he has to use ounce of willpower not to blush and/or giggle). “Everyone ready?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sirius drags a footstool across from a nearby cluster of unoccupied chairs and seats himself beside Remus’ armchair. “OK- go!”

There’s a collective ripping noise as everyone tears into the paper. Remus is very pleased with his purchases this year: for James, he found a truly horrible Christmas jumper with a cartoon deer on the front, and a pair of gloves that keep your hands warm ‘Even at four hundred feet up!’. Peter’s getting a selection of- well, pretty much everything from Honeydukes, not all of it illegally obtained, and a diary for next year that’s enchanted to say things like ‘Write to your mother!’ and ‘Go to the shops!’. Sirius-

“Moony,” A voice comes from down by his feet, “What’s in the box? It’s not going to bite me, is it?”

Remus rolls his eyes, and stops unwrapping. Both James and Peter pause to watch, too.

“No, Padfoot. It’s not going to bite you.”

Remus watches as Sirius cautiously lifts the top of the cardboard box, revealing-

“Baubles?” Sirius looks around again, curiously.

“Well,” Remus’ heart is suddenly tripping faster, “It’s a tradition to get some Christmas decorations from your family, when you move out. And- y’know-”

Sirius puts the box carefully on the floor and hugs Remus’ legs.

“The best,” He says, and if his eyes are a little too bright, none of them mention it.

“Nice one, Moony!” James has discovered the gloves, then bursts out laughing, “And this is truly-“ He holds up the jumper, apparently lost for words. The other three all crack up at the same time.

“Dashing,” Sirius offers.

“Hideous,” Peter giggles.

“Wear it at once, Prongs,” Remus commands, grateful for the distraction from the ache in his shoulders and jaw. James pulls it on with good grace, and the wrapping paper explosion continues.

 

 

Later, much later, when snow is falling in the silent, dark night and James is snoring from behind the curtains of his four-poster, Remus listens to Sirius’ steady heartbeat and thinks that he’s never been so happy.

He’s in pain, tomorrow he’ll once again transform into a mindless, savage, hated beast, and in a few months he’ll leave the safety of the castle and have to make his own way in a world determined to despise him…

And yet he’s happy.

Strange, that.

 

 

**_Epilogue_ **

**_Part I_ **

 

The snow rages down, icy fists smashing apart on the castle walls, wind howling across the great expanse of the frozen lake. The sun has long since sunk below the mountainous horizon.

A boy, hood drawn up over his head, struggles through the knee-high drifts. Pale yellow wandlight reflects off the swirling flakes surrounding him.

Several paces behind him, another dark figure tracks him through the blizzard.

Apparently unaware, the first boy never looks around: his wand held out before him, he keeps trudging on through the darkened grounds.

Over the noise of the wind, another sound rises- a creaking, a crashing, a groaning noise of terrible wrath, of flailing branches. The boy’s stride never falters.

The tree comes into view, writhing furiously as though railing against the storm. Just outside the range of its branches, the boy finally comes to a halt, his cloak whipping around his legs. He utters an incantation, but it’s lost to the wind.

The tree- astonishingly- freezes in place.

The boy looks around then, and his shadower shrinks away, trying to hide- but somehow, the boy doesn’t seem to notice them. He stows his wand in his pocket and heads for the sprawling roots clenching the frozen earth.

 _There’s a hole!_ His follower thinks, as the boy vanishes out of sight into the bowels of the trunk. He starts forward.

The passageway smells of earth and cold, cold air. He holds his breath- this time, _finally_ , he’ll be able to _prove_ it-

 

 

The wolf floods everywhere, every part of him, every cell is converted until there is no him left.

 

There’s the torn and broken floorboards under paws; there’s cool air currents coursing across skin; there’s scents and instincts and impulses and nothing else, _nothing_ _else_ -

The wolf howls, long and loud, then stumbles through the rooms, clawing the walls-

The wolf crouches and looks for the way out, sniffing, snuffling, searching…

 _There_ -

The wolf staggers forward, into the dark tunnel.

 

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck- Severus! SEVERUS!”

There was a howl, a terrible, frightening howl from the earth beneath their feet. James slid down into the tunnel, wand drawn, not knowing what he was going to do if it came down to it but sure that if he didn’t do something, someone was going to get very badly hurt.

In the passageway, Snape stands wary, wand held out, looking down into the dark. He spins at the sight of James crashing into the tunnel behind him.

“No, Potter- not this time! This time you’re not getting away with it,” He gasps, even as James lurches towards him: the glitter of wandlight across his dark eyes makes him look quite insane.

In the darkness beyond, James can see a slender figure, watching them both.

Sirius’ expression is flat, emotionless- somehow both cruel and dead. And James realises, as his insides seem to freeze over, that he’s on his own.

“Snape-” Ignoring the wand, he seizes Snape by the shoulder, his heart going harder than ever, because he’s afraid, nobody should ever be around Remus when he’s turned, but if Snape sees either of them shift- he’s trying to shrug off James’ grip, they’re struggling in the near dark, Snape trying to turn his wand on him-

And suddenly, they can all hear it.

The soft thud of heavy paws; the snuffling sound of a predator, searching for the scent. _Hunting_.

Snape freezes, and James can see that he suddenly looks as afraid as James feels, that he suddenly understands exactly what’s at stake for him.

“Run,” James breathes, eyes fixed on the end of the passageway, gripping his wand harder, “ _Run_.”

There’s half a heartbeat, maybe, when everything is silent and still.

And then the werewolf howls, the sound ricocheting in the enclosed space, and Snape breaks, stumbling backwards as James swings his wand like a beater’s bat and yells, “Incendio!”

The fireball flies down the tunnel, over Sirius’ head, illuminating the twisted, hunched figure of the wolf even as it cringes away from the light and tries to cover its eyes with its paws. James can hear Snape scrambling up the steep incline, back out into the blizzard, and he follows as Sirius transforms before his eyes into an enormous black dog and leaps towards Moony, and James has no idea whether he’ll try to slow him down or egg him on.

Snowflakes sting his eyes as he drags himself out of the Whomping Willow. He can see Snape, running full pelt through the snow, back towards the castle. James prays that he won’t look back.

He turns, transforms, and lowers his antlers to cover the dark hole, gaping in the snow. He hopes Wormy will keep his paw on the knot of the tree…

 

 

**_Part II_ **

 

“So?!” Lily Evans slams her books down on the bench (earning a reproving look from Slughorn, who had rather overindulged in firewhiskey over the Christmas break) and looks meaningfully at Remus, “Did it work?”

“Plotting voice, Lily,” Remus admonishes, glancing around to see if anyone else has heard. Thankfully, there seems to be enough general chatter in the room to distract anyone from Lily’s strange question.

“Alright,” She whispers, rolling her eyes and pulling her hair into a bun, “Did it work?”

“Yes,” Remus allows himself a small smile, “It worked.”

“HA!”

Several people turn in their seats to look at them: from across the room, James and Sirius crane their necks. Remus just shakes his head and frowns at Lily.

“Sorry, sorry,” She mumbles, but a triumphant grin is playing around her mouth.

At the front of the dungeon, Slughorn claps his hands, then winces.

“I hope you all had a festive Christmas break!” He tells them, at perhaps a fifth of his normal volume, “Today we will be brewing a Silencing Solution: the instructions-” He flicks his wand at the blackboard, and his familiar curling script begins to scrawl across it, “-are on the board. For the best results, keep noise to the minimum! I will be examining every potion at the end of the lesson.”

Remus gets to work on lighting a fire at the right temperature beneath their cauldron, whilst Lily starts assembling their ingredients. As soon as he has the flames crackling, Lily unrolls a scroll of parchment on the desk and scribbles something at the top.

_Periwinkle blue flames, please._

Remus rolls his eyes in response, but pokes the fire with his wand until the flames reach the desired colour. Lily smiles in thanks, then returns to dicing gurdyroots.

A few minutes later, and she picks up the quill again. Remus leans over to read:

_I was right, wasn’t I?_

Remus can’t help but glance over at Sirius, his hair mostly returned to its natural black, and a small smile creeps across his face. When he looks back, Lily has an enormous, slightly evil grin on her face. He lifts his eyes to the ceiling, then nods.

_HA!!!!_

Once their potion has been combined with chamomile wine and left to simmer, they have several minutes to wait.

_Good break then?_

**Don’t smirk at me, Lily**

**And it was… mixed**

_???_

Remus pauses, not sure what to say.

He thinks of the three days he spent ignoring Sirius, trapped in a hideous fog of self-hatred and horror over what could have happened in the tunnel on Boxing Day night. Of course, he remembered everything that he did as a wolf- he remembered seeing three humans, stood between him and the outside world- remembered the _smell_ …

His stomach turns over. It wasn’t until Sirius had apologised to him (and to Snape, apparently at James’ insistence) that they’d returned to something approximating normal. They were together, and Remus knew that he still loved Sirius, would probably always still love Sirius, but the idea that he had been _used_ that way made him feel a burning anger and a slight sense of revulsion.

Obviously, he’s not going to mention any of this to Lily. If it weren’t for the fact that the whole school would know about what happened in the second-floor corridor the day after term finished by lunchtime today, he would have kept that from her, too, but the Hogwarts gossip mill was very efficient. He sighs, dips his quill in their shared inkpot, and scrawls:

**Snape cursed me two weeks ago**

Lily’s head shoots up and looks for Snape: he’s sat on the front row, hunched over his cauldron. Then she looks at Remus, and he can tell she’s looking for some hint that he might be lying, or that he’s mistaken-

_What happened_

**It wasn’t the tickling jinx, I can tell you that much**

Remus grimaces, then decides to be completely honest.

**Made a hippogriff attack look like a few scratches**

Lily’s hand comes up to cover her mouth. She looks, horrified, at Snape’s back.

After a few minutes, Remus gently nudges her arm and points to his fresh writing.

**But other than that I had a good Christmas**

**You?**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, 14000 words later here we are!
> 
> Now, I am aware that Part I of the epilogue may not be strictly canon- but that detail about Sirius 'tricking' Snape into the Whomping Willow never sat well with me. Sure, Sirius hated Snape, but enough to potentially turn him into a werewolf as a joke? It didn't feel right. But, as I was writing this, the idea of Sirius doing so as revenge on Snape for cursing Remus... Now that made a whole lot more sense. But you might not agree! And that's totally fine.  
> I also imagine that Lily finds out that James told Sirius that his feelings were reciprocated, and realises how much he's matured (because if he hadn't talked to Sirius, Remus could have won their bet and he might have gone on that date with her after all), which is a catalyst for their relationship. But to be honest, I was running out of steam with this and I'm happy to leave it where it is.
> 
> A Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, Newton Scamander was responsible for the Werewolf Registration Act in the UK (I may or may not have an entire background fic planned out...).
> 
> I really love hearing what you think! All feedback is loved and treasured, whether it's kudos or comments or sharing with other people :)


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